


Inverse/Reverse

by un-shit-yourself (fenix_down)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Pickup Lines, Depression, Handerslympics 2017, Loneliness, M/M, Modern AU, Past Anders/Karl Thekla - Freeform, Reversal of Fortune, Tarot Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself
Summary: XIII DeathKey Word: Transformation. Upright position: renewal, endings, destruction and rebirth, action, immortality, new ideas replacing old ideas, physical change, regeneration.





	Inverse/Reverse

_V. Acceptance_

“It’s fine,” Anders said reassuringly. “I won’t be gone forever, and working with the Wardens is a big opportunity. I’ll be back for the summer. Might even get a tan.” He winked, choosing to drag his duffel bag out of the closet instead of acknowledging that Karl still hadn’t looked up, gaze fixed instead to the acceptance letter resting on their bed.

“It’s fine,” Anders sighed into the phone, balanced on his shoulder while his hands sorted medical equipment into containers. “Lothering’s just been busier than we thought. The Blight hit harder than predicted and there’s still a lot of wildlife affected, but I’ll have some time this weekend to talk. I’ll text you tonight though when I’m done, Love, I promise.” He yelled out to Sigrun to mind the stacked supplies and missed Karl’s _I love you_. It didn’t even register until early the next morning, and he blearily texted an apology to his boyfriend for not saying goodnight.

 _It's fine_ , Anders insisted, ignoring Kristoff’s frown as he messaged Karl during their latest briefing, fresh black ink smeared across the map covering the table. _This blowout is smaller but it hit close to Redcliffe and there's endangered fennecs caught in it, won't take more than a month. Be home by Halloween_. His phone chimed in response, but he didn't hear it over Nate and Velanna arguing. 

“It's fine” Anders pleaded, hissing a whisper while Surana pretended not to listen as she continued reading, the blue light of her flashlight making the tent seem colder than it was. “I know it's hard, Love, it's hard for me too to be alone for the holidays, but… of course you're important, you know that, but the Blight… the Wardens need me.” Anders finally released a held breath when a response didn't come, and found that their call had dropped due to the weather and he'd been begging to empty air. 

“It’s fine,” he said flatly, staring at the letter crumpled in his hand, the half-open package containing the remainder of his possessions kicked into the corner. Surana said nothing in response, just continued leaning against his back with her small arms around him, and Sigrun shook her head and left to find Oghren’s stash of whiskey. 

\---

_IV. Depression_

He found Ser Pounce hiding behind a pile of apple crates in Amaranthine, his fur black as pitch. Anders discovered the cat was orange after the first bath and a tabby after the second, and promptly made a home for him in his corner of the trailer. Surana proclaimed him to be their team mascot and made him a collar before she was reassigned to Orlais. 

Roland never liked Anders. He was ex-Templar, always comparing the Wardens’ discipline unfavorably to his past military life, but singling out Anders for it most of all. Roland insisted that his wild behavior was a disgrace to the organization and found his carefree attitude infuriating. 

Anders couldn't give less of a shit; he'd signed on for one more year already and was determined to make the most of it, with or without anyone’s approval. Pounce was the only thing he had anymore that made a difference, the little cat filling a spot for “home” that he’d sorely missed with being constantly on the move. 

There was always an adoption of rescued animals from the area after the Blight was cleaned where people could take in abandoned pets for a small donation. Anders didn't even notice Pounce had been put into a cage until he saw a little boy giggling as the kitten attacked his finger, while his father handed over a check to Roland. 

Anders sucker-punched him after the family left, which was a terrible idea in every way, but he still laughed loudly as they dragged Roland off of him, getting blood and tears on Kristoff’s shirt as he was carried to the Infirmary.

\---

_III. Bargaining_

“Uh-oh,” Isabela said, opening her door to find Anders on the welcome mat, duffel bag over his shoulder and cardboard box in his arms. He probably looked like a wet cat and his nose was more crooked than normal, but she was a good friend and didn’t say anything.

“Wardens kicked me out,” Anders said, expression falsely cheerful. “You’re the only one I have. Can I stay here for a bit?”

“A bit, hmm?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe. “How vague are we talking?”

“A month?” he tried. “I'll clean everything. I can even cook now.”

She snorted. “I'm a busy woman, sweet thing, but I still run a tight ship. Two weeks. Unless you have something else to offer as payment.“

He knew she was mostly kidding, so he rolled his eyes. “Three weeks, and I'll tell you the details about my Warden experience for your next bodice-ripper, including the stories of Nate and all of his piercings.”

“Deal!” she said happily, and stepped aside. “Second door on the right’s the spare room. Come sit with me when you're done settling in, you look like you could use a drink.“

It took two months for to Anders swallow his pride and use Surana as a reference to gain a job at a local vet clinic, moving from Isabela’s spare room to a cheap apartment in Lowtown. That first night was the first time he'd been completely alone in years, and he slept with the television on just so he could hear someone else's voice. 

\---

_II. Anger_

It wasn't every day that Anders found himself staring at a handsomely scruffy man with amazing eyes and a friendly grin. While he would normally be thrilled by this outcome, this one had suddenly appeared in his living room with no advance warning, and therefore got to see Anders wearing “after work” clothes, which consisted of a green plaid robe and grey pajama pants (that may or may not have had kittens on them).

The patio door had slid open just wide enough for the man to step inside. He’d shut it quickly behind him, meeting Anders’ startled gaze from his spot on the couch, and said, “Hey,” like breaking and entering was a perfectly normal way for a stranger to introduce himself.

Needless to say, he had a few problems with this, but the question his brain decided was the most pertinent to answer was, “How did you get up here?” Anders lived on the second floor.

“Climbed,” the man responded. He put his hands up to the glass to peer outside, and scoffed. “Well, there goes my evening.”

“Oh, _your_ evening is ruined?!” Embarrassment brought out his indignation, and he moved from the couch to the other side of the room, folding his robe over himself. “Why are you in my apartment?”

The man glanced over at him, apparently finding Anders’ disheveled state amusing if his smirk was anything to go by. “I was pulling down those obnoxious ‘Poop Commandments’. Apparently the security guy thought that wasn’t a good idea. Had to make a quick escape, and your apartment was close. Sorry.”

Anders was almost placated; the woman who ran the office treated all animals as a nuisance, but she couldn’t evict existing tenants. Instead, she imposed her iron will in the form of neon printouts about “pet filth” in 48-point comic sans. He’d pried three of them from his door just this week. 

However, Anders needed to keep what he could of his pride intact. “Even _if_ that’s a good cause, you can’t just barge into people’s apartments!”

The bearded man held his arms up placatingly. “Hey, I’m not here for trouble, really.” He glanced out the window. “Looks like he moved on, so I’ll move on too, yeah?”

“Yeah, you should do that,” Anders huffed, folding his arms. “Go be a vigilante somewhere else.”

Grinning, the man opened the door and stepped out, but poked his head back in before it shut. “Nice pants,” he said, blowing Anders a kiss. The man climbed back down the using the railing as Anders turned red and sputtered indignantly, stomping over to the glass door, throwing the lock, and slamming the curtains shut.

 _A man just climbed into my apartment, made fun of my kitten pajamas, and then left_ , he texted Isabela.

 _was he cute?? did u get his number????_ , she replied.

Anders responded with the most offended emoji he could find and pouted on the couch.

\---

_I. Denial_

The man’s name was Hawke. 

Anders found out a few days later when a massive mabari came in for vaccinations and _scooching on the carpet._ “I heard you enjoyed leaflets about ‘pet filth’,” he said with some small sense of justice, handing Hawke a printout titled “Expressing Your Dog’s Anal Glands.”

“You know…” Hawke started, and then made a disgusted face. “Nevermind, even I’m not clever enough to use ‘anal glands’ in a pickup line.” 

“He’s cute,” Merrill commented innocently as she filed the paperwork for Porkchop Hawke.

The blond snorted and very much didn’t watch Hawke race his dog to his car. “No, he isn’t.” 

Anders opened his blinds the next morning and found a six pack of “Tethras’ Kilt Lifter Ale” on his balcony, along with a note that read _Is this clever? - Hawke_.

He texted the provided phone number with _No it isn’t_ and received a sad emoji in response.

“You like him,” Isabela teased later, watching Anders furtively glancing at his phone for notifications. He was thankful he had unlimited texts on his plan; he and Hawke had been communicating nonstop all day.

“No, I don’t,” the blond insisted. “He likes dogs, I can’t possibly like someone so _wrong_.” 

He pounced when his phone chimed. After scrolling through the latest argument on why dogs were superior to cats, Hawke digressed and offered a truce by way of dinner that weekend.

“Uh-oh,” she said when Anders stared at his phone with his hand over his mouth.

He released a held breath and replied with a winking emoji, then offered a smile to Isabela. “It’s fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I chose “Death” as my tarot card because I think change and the death of “past-selves” is a necessary for growth and blah blah. It also fits well with Anders and his overall character arc. I was also kind of inspired by the “five stages of grief,” and then reversed them. (get it? Tarot? Reversed? *coughs* i’m not clever it’s okay) I had part of this written previously, and always wanted to make it into something more, and I found a home with it here. Hopefully it all works together with my flagrant abuse of the passage of time. <3 Super thanks to Mikke and Reikah for organizing the Handerslympics.
> 
> Come visit me on [Tumblr](http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com) to see additional Handers garbage.


End file.
